


a weight to cherish

by 3amscribbles



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-06-04 02:09:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6636829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3amscribbles/pseuds/3amscribbles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“How are you feeling?” he asks, low and gentle without even trying.</p>
<p>Aaron looks at him with a small storm in his eyes, a battle of emotions that he isn’t scared to aim at Robert as he breathes out, “I don’t know… light?”</p>
<p>Or; what could have happened after the verdict.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a weight to cherish

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](http://3am-scribbles.tumblr.com/post/142843971960/26k-set-after-the-verdict-in-other-words-very).

“He loves me,” Adam says when he slides into the booth. His voice has a sensitive tone to it, a soft pitch that usually only seeps through when he’s urging Vic awake from the sofa so that he can take her to bed, or when he’s calling her close for a kiss over the bar before he leaves.

Robert’s not used to it – has only ever been around when it’s been aimed at someone else and hasn’t understood what it’s like to be faced with it, with this side of Adam that must be the reason Vic and Aaron are so sure about him. So attached to him.

Now he does his best to sit through it, furrowing his brows against the intensity of Adam’s gaze and giving his head a light shake, trying to let the words fall into place in his mind.

“He loves Vic, and his family,” Adam continues, hushed even in the whirl of voices in the pub. He looks weighed down by the exhaustion that this trial has left in all of their bones, but he still manages to sound firm in everything he says, determined to get it all out, whatever it is he’s got to say. “He’s anchored himself in us – found a purpose in the task of looking out for us because he’s never been too bothered with himself.”

They both look away, then, over at the bar where Aaron’s been reeled in by Chas’ hands. Robert thinks that they look soft on Aaron’s cheeks, that her thumbs look gentle where they’re splayed over his cheekbones, brushing where none of them hope to see tears again anytime soon.

When he looks back he’s already got Adam’s eyes on him again. There’s a lack of suspicion in them now, replaced with a hesitant brand of curiosity that has grown bigger over the past weeks, through Robert’s relentless fight to be here, there, anywhere near enough to feel the changes of Aaron’s mood in the wind across his face.

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t know if there’s anything _to_ say that won’t break what’s happening between them, this truce with potential that is building up slowly, steadily, under lazy supervision by the two people that make them both better. Instead he tips the glass in his hand, the pint Cain put on the table along with a nod of understanding, spinning it gently against the table as he watches Adam’s expression, waiting.

“It’s not been enough, though, that he’s loved us more than life itself, you know?” Adam asks, looking like he actually does expect Robert to understand, trusting that he does as he leans forward, shielding the conversation further like it’s something that can’t go any further.. “‘Cause, I mean, we both know that Aaron hasn’t cared about his own life for years. He’s always wanted to disappear from everything, and loving us never changed that.”

Robert does know, does understand. He’s spent more intimate time with Aaron than anyone else in the village over the past year, has seen sides to Aaron that have been guarded from the rest of the world, so he _knows_. It’s something he doesn’t think of too often, though, something he consciously keeps stored at the back of his mind, because the thought of losing Aaron - of seeing the man he loves give in to himself after such a long fight - it terrifies him.

“It could be different now, though,” he stresses, nowhere near as confident in his own words as Adam has been. He feels frantic, grasping for words and pressing them out with a desperate need to make them true, even though he doesn’t have that power. Or any power, really, when Aaron is involved. He’s raw and defenceless, running on hope any time Aaron is near, and that’s a thrill he’s never experienced before.

He lets his glass tip back safely on the table, runs his palms along the surface and down to his lap as he meets Adam’s gaze, adding, “Now that the trial’s over – with Gordon gone, it could be different. _Has_ to be different. He can finally live his life again.”

Adam’s smiling now, though not at Robert. His gaze has drifted back to Aaron, to the figure they’re both so familiar with that is making a slow escape from behind the bar, but the smile doesn’t fade once he turns back to Robert. It dims slightly, has a bit of a knowing tilt to it as he hums.

“ _You_ are the difference, Robert,” he says. “I mean, he doesn’t love life, not yet. Maybe he never will. But he’s realized that he doesn’t have a shot at loving you if he’s not here to live it, and that’s – that’s massive.”

He’s shifting his attention, then, leaving Robert with a racing pulse and pink cheeks as he welcomes Aaron to the table, and for a moment Robert feels breathless with the sheer power of hope that Adam’s words are true. Another moment later he’s trembling through a hasty inhale, losing it all over again when he sees Aaron’s expression; soft, open, not even hesitating before he’s sliding in next to Robert.

Robert looks at him, savours every inch of Aaron’s face as if he hasn’t had his hands pressed to that jawline recently, his fingers against that stubble as they’ve kissed. Yesterday, with the taste of whiskey. This morning, for the sake of reassurance. And then again this afternoon, like a breath of fresh air, with Aaron sagging against him in relief.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, low and gentle without even trying.

Aaron looks at him with a small storm in his eyes, a battle of emotions that he isn’t scared to aim at Robert as he breathes out, “I don’t know… light?”

He looks confused by his own emotions, by the lack of weight on his shoulders, but there’s a comfort to his posture. A nice slope to his neck to show that it’s less of a strain, now, to hold his head up high.

Robert smiles gently at him, fitting his hand just above Aaron’s knee, hoping that it will be enough, because he’s run out of words. Has nothing left to say that isn’t rich declarations that may very well scare Aaron away tonight, and he doesn’t want to ruin anything. Not for Aaron, and not for himself.

He notices Aaron’s change of expression, though; the shift of his gaze from Robert’s face to Robert’s hand on his thigh, his brow furrowed and his bottom lip caught between his teeth. It’s enough to make doubt flare in Robert’s chest, his breath slipping out of him again when he realizes his mistake. He starts to retract his hand, lets his fingers catch on the trousers to savour Aaron’s heat while he plasters a guilty expression on his face, only Aaron doesn’t let him get very far. There’s fingers wrapping gently around Robert’s wrist, calluses pressed softly over the blue net of veins on the inside of it as Aaron resettles Robert’s hand on his thigh, asking silently for him to keep it there.

Robert swallows back the relief, the overwhelming sense of affection, and squeezes an unspoken ‘ _i’m here, still not going anywhere_ ’ into the fabric as Adam gets a conversation going.

Plenty has happened an hour later. Pints have been drunk, questions have been asked, people have dropped by the table and made Aaron squirm uncomfortably under their attention, but Robert’s hand has remained still. A solid pressure, with a thumb that’s rubbed gentle circles into the flesh whenever Aaron has tensed up against him, and he can’t remember the last time he felt so sure of himself in someone else’s presence. So certain that this is where he belongs.

The feeling only intensifies when Aaron turns his head to look at him, a wave of warmth washing over him along with Aaron’s gaze. He’s got tired lines around his eyes, a plea in the midst of the burst of colour as he leans in closer, breath warm and solid against the side of Robert’s face.

“Can I stay with you tonight?” he asks. “I just – I can’t deal with this.”

Robert nods, out of breath from running his heart in laps around Aaron all night, and downs the last of his pint. He shares a look with Adam when they leave, a sense of understanding building in that truce they’ve got going for them that Robert hopes will keep growing. The rest of the gang he doesn’t care about, eyes unwaveringly aimed at Aaron to make sure that he’s okay as he shares a few words with Chas, and then they’re out.

It’s cold outside, the wind harsh against their cheeks as they walk with their hands stuck in their pockets, but there’s a calm to find in the silence. A comfort wrapping around them, enhancing that they are a bit of a unit now, that it’s okay for the night sky to see them as one.

He watches Aaron fumble the first few buttons of his shirt open in the dim lighting of his room, perching on the bed with his heart beating out affection in his chest. He doesn’t get to see much else, though, apart from Aaron gathering up the clothes Robert has laid out for him and disappearing off to brush his teeth.

A part of him is wary. A big, unrelenting part that has his legs shaking with the need to go after Aaron, to make sure that he’s okay and that there’s nothing new upon his skin that he’s trying to hide. He knows that he’s been held at a distance lately, that there’s been room for Aaron to sink back into his self-destruction, but he won’t ask about it tonight. Not when Aaron’s breathing has been regular the whole evening, when he’s managed to crack real smiles and enough sarcastic comments to set Robert a little bit on fire.

No, tonight he’ll savour Aaron’s presence, take the chance to breathe him in, and hopefully - _god, he fucking hopes_ \-  hold Aaron through the night. Knowing, finally, that he’s completely safe.

“Mum looked happy,” Aaron says when he comes back, closing the door gently behind him, then hovering right by it, chewing on the inside of his mouth. “I’ve missed that. Feels like I’ve been dragging everyone down with this. With everything -”

“You’ve done nothing,” Robert cuts in, narrowing his eyes in disbelief. He leans forward, away from the headboard as if a closed distance will convey his words better. “Well, you’ve done a lot actually. Been so brave, stood up to him, shown us all that you’re just as strong as we’ve always thought you were. She’s – we’re _all_ just relieved that justice was served.”

Aaron nods heavily, once, twice, and then he’s dropping the pile of his own clothes on the floor, shuffling past them to the bed, to Robert, sinking down in front of him. He hesitates for a second, brows once again furrowed over conflicted eyes before he makes a decision; settles his hand above Robert’s ankle as some sort of focal point.

“Thank you, again,” he mutters. His voice is like gravel, but it’s comforting like this, without the added strain of the pain he’s carried through every conversation over the past weeks. “For today, for everything.”

Robert leans forward again, this time with a goal in mind as he places a tentative hand on Aaron’s cheek, holding him gently. “You don’t have to thank me, Aaron. I won’t let you go through anything alone again.”

He brushes his thumb underneath Aaron’s eye, aware of the emotions that are aimed at him as he gives a gentle smile, a crooked thing that probably doesn’t hide the anticipation he feels when Aaron moves under his fingertips; breathes out nerves and inhales Robert’s scent.

It’s the first time Aaron initiates a kiss since he was a mess of a man on a park bench, scrambling desperately for Robert’s touch in search of something to subdue the chaos in his mind. Now there’s clarity in his eyes during the second their eyes meet, just before Aaron closes his and dips in to capture Robert’s lips with his own. It’s a conflict finally being resolved as he presses his mouth to Robert’s, and a breath of relief washing out against Robert’s upper lip when Robert remains under his touch, holding him close where he once showed rejection.

Robert sinks back against the pillows, his hand on Aaron’s cheek a gentle plea for the younger man to follow as he spreads his legs, making room for Aaron to fit himself in-between.

The kiss is slow, a slick slide of tongues to get them familiar with each other again, though it doesn’t feel necessary. Robert hasn’t known a home that’s felt as right as the one he finds under Aaron’s weight, hasn’t experienced a fit as seamless as the one of their aligned bodies, or of Aaron’s hands against his chest. He doesn’t know how he’s managed to breathe without it, any of it.

Aaron leans back eventually, rounding them off with soft pecks as if he doesn’t know where to punctuate their conversation, perhaps as scared as Robert is of the prospect that they won’t pick it back up again, even though there’s no obstacles this time around. Nothing to make them back away from each other.

He gives a small smile, ever so guarded as he sinks down to fit his head beneath Robert’s chin, pressing a final kiss to the collar of the t-shirt before he settles in, hands tucked against the mattress under Robert’s weight, breath falling heavily over Robert’s chest.

Robert spends a long time listening to it once he’s turned the bedside lamp off; committing every inhale to memory, savouring every exhale as it beats through the fabric and against his skin. It’s unlike the Aaron that collapsed at the scrapyard, the one that reopened mental scars and let his pain flow out in conversation on Debbie’s sofa. It’s gentle, calm, settled in a comfort Robert is proud, _so very proud_ , to emit.

When minutes have passed, and when he can’t tell one thought from another because they’re all _Aaron_ , he’s brought back to the moment, to Aaron’s head on his chest, and to the way Aaron’s hands are slipping out of the confines they’ve found between the mattress and Robert’s back. There’s a moment when he thinks that it’s over, that Aaron’s had enough and that he needs his space, but he doesn’t get to be disappointed. Doesn’t even have time to feel sad about it before Aaron’s grasping his wrists, urging him into action until his arms are wrapped securely around the small of Aaron’s back.

He breathes, in and out, brushing his fingers along the sliver of skin he finds under the hem of Aaron’s shirt as he whispers, “You okay?”

Aaron’s head moves slightly, a vague nod to go with his murmur, “Just – I want to stay here.”

It takes Robert a moment, but then things start to fall into place. He recalls what Adam said, about how Aaron doesn’t want to disappear anymore. Recalls Aaron’s admission that he felt _‘light’_ at the pub, and then the unspoken plea for Robert to keep his hand on Aaron’s thigh throughout the night.

Aaron doesn’t want to disappear anymore. Not from the village, from the people he loves, or from his life. He’s here, in Robert’s arms, trusting Robert to keep him grounded.


End file.
